


Silver Bullets Had To Start Somewhere

by faequeentitania



Category: Agents of Cracked, Cracked - Ambiguous Fandom, Cracked.com
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Magic, Pre-Relationship, Soulmates, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 18:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10927710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faequeentitania/pseuds/faequeentitania
Summary: Michael's dead, Dan's on the east coast, and he's losing his mind. He never imagined losing his partner would feel like this.





	Silver Bullets Had To Start Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> Suicidal thoughts are very briefly mentioned in the beginning of this fic. This got kind of dark, but everything ends well and with some romantic sap. And once again I've proven myself to have a terrible tendency to take a light-hearted comedy show and turn it onto Dramatic Emotions.

Dan didn't have nearly enough time to process how he felt about Michael. Not by a long shot.

But that was the thing, wasn't it? People always thought they had more time. There was always another day, there was always a better moment, why should I say it _now_? No rush.

Only now it was too late. Really, truly, absolutely too late and Dan didn't know how to process that.

It didn't help that he dreamed about Michael constantly. He'd dream normal, odd dreams where he was stopping Michael from feeding a bale of hay into the office paper shredder, or watching Michael eat a 10-course meal in the break room for some mysterious reason.

Those dreams were okay, generally speaking. They weren't traumatizing in and of themselves, they just made him sad when he woke up; sad and filled with longing for the strange goings-on at the Cracked office he had grown so used to.

No, the dreams that made him wake up gasping and sweating and shaking like a leaf were the dreams soaked in death.

Sometimes it was just Michael's death, replayed beat by beat.

Michael yelling and rushing B-Tone then the crack of a gunshot, and that fast it was over. Michael dropped to the ground, a silver bullet in his heart and that was it.

Silver fucking bullets. The legend had to start somewhere, obviously, and knowing what he did about The Chiefs, it made sense. But it still felt ridiculous, still felt like a joke someone was playing on him.

But by far the most disturbing ones were the ones where Michael seemed to be trapped somewhere. Sometimes it was a black, empty void that made Dan wake up feeling cold to his bones. Sometimes it was places he was familiar with, and sometimes the places were alien to him. Those weren’t as disturbing as the void, but there was a common thread that ran through all of the dreams; Michael was there, and he was completely out of Dan’s reach. He was suffering, and completely alone, and Dan couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

It was driving him insane.

So insane that two months after Michael’s death, Dan was standing on the roof of his apartment building in the middle of the night, looking down at the traffic below. The cold air was making his fingers and face feel tingly, but he barely noticed.

His mind felt numb and stuffed with cotton; a symptom of restless nights followed by bleak days. He felt so homesick; not just for the west, though he felt that too, since moving back to New Jersey. He just couldn’t stand a California without Michael in it; it felt too wrong for him to bare.

The homesickness that was eating him up inside, though, wasn’t for California, but for Michael. He missed seeing him every day at Cracked, he missed Michael’s voice, Michael’s questions and odd little quirks, Michael’s constant _touch_.

He didn’t even realize how much Michael touched him until it was absent. Suddenly every moment where Michael would have been gripping his arm, or nudging him with his elbow, or pressing his knee against Dan’s, or leaning on Dan’s shoulders, or any number of little touches Michael gave him throughout the day became painfully apparent in their disappearance.

He hadn’t had enough _time_. Loving Michael had hit him so suddenly, so strangely, in such a startling way. After the threesome with Kelly Wheeler, Dan should have been left dreaming about her; about how to find her, convince her that Dan could be enough on his own, if only given the chance.

He didn’t. He couldn’t stop thinking about Michael; about how excited he had been, about how he had been just as enthusiastic to touch Dan as he had been to touch Kelly, and how much Dan had very much not minded.

When it hit him that he had no inclination whatsoever to chase after Kelly Wheeler, the girl he had been enamoured with since freshman year, the girl who had sought _him_ out... it was like walking headlong into a glass door and breaking his nose.

He just hadn’t had enough time. His world had been flipped upside down with a single realization and he hadn’t been able to work through it fast enough to act on it.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

But now he was looking off the edge of his roof, down the side of eight stories that separated him from the ground.

**“He’d never forgive you.”**

Dan straightened up so fast he almost fell over, his heart pounding wildly.

“Chief!” he gasped, twisting around to look at the shadowy figure and putting a hand over his heart, “What the hell are you doing here?”

 **“Making sure you don’t do something stupid,”** The Chief’s ominous voice rumbled, making Dan’s skin break out in goosebumps, **“Get away from the edge, O’Brien.”**

Sheepishly Dan moved away from the edge of the roof and stepped closer to The Chief.

His face flushed with sudden shame. Dan wasn’t the only one suffering; he may have lost a partner but The Chief lost a _son_. Yet The Chief wasn’t the one standing on the edge of a roof.

**“Grief isn’t a competition.”**

Dan was almost entirely sure that The Chief was reading his mind, and it just made his face flush hotter. He felt pathetic; awash with grief he wasn’t even sure he had a right to and even weaker for how poorly he was handling it.

 **“Grief isn’t a competition,”** The Chief repeated, and Dan was startled when he reached out to place a hand on Dan’s shoulder, and gave a squeeze that was surprisingly gentle, **“And it’s not something that should make you feel humiliated, either. You loved him, and you mourn him, there’s nothing wrong with that.”**

Dan felt like all the moisture in his mouth had suddenly vanished. The Chief was not only acting uncharacteristically kind to him, but had spilled Dan’s innermost secret with no more concern than if he was commenting on the weather.

“You-” his voice squeaked, so he cleared his throat hurriedly and tried again, “You knew?”

**“Not immediately. But even a blind idiot in a coma would have seen it when you reached out to him on the floor of that conference room.”**

It was like getting kicked in the guts. The exact moment The Chief was referring to was etched into Dan’s brain like someone had carved it with a pocket knife, and it hurt just as much as that, too.

The instant Michael had hit the floor, The Chief and Sarge were ripping B-Tone apart; metallic bits and synthetic blood being scattered across the room like fucking confetti but Dan couldn’t hear it over the ringing in his ears.

His brain was consumed with only one thought; _Get to Michael._ He just needed to get to his partner, he just needed to stem the flow of blood from his chest until The Chief could fix him.

He’d seen Michael’s head explode _twice_. The man had eaten poison and injected so many drugs into his body he had to be nearly mummified, there was no way a single bullet could take him down.

Dan’s hands were completely covered with hot, slick blood, his palms pressed over the gaping hole in Michael’s chest, but Dan felt like his whole body was filled with ice.

Michael’s eyes were open, wide with surprise, but there was no one there. Deep in his guts, Dan knew it, had somehow _felt_ the exact instant Michael’s life had ended like a kick to the head.

But still he kept on pressing, trying so hard to keep Michael’s blood inside his body until The Chief could fix it. He _had_ to fix it. He was The Chief. He could take memories and add years to an intern’s life. He could pull the light back into Michael’s eyes.

He couldn’t. Sarge explained it all to him as he helped Dan wash up; doing it for him, really, because Dan’s body felt as able to function as drenched tissue paper. Silver bullets.

**“The point is, Chew Toy, that you’re allowed to feel the way you do. But under no circumstances are you allowed to jump off this roof, or do anything else to harm yourself, got it?”**

Dan balked, and the color drained from his face.

“Why?” he couldn’t stop the word from slipping from his mouth in a breathless squeak, and he hated the hot tears that welled up into his eyes.

**“Because Michael would never forgive you if you did.”**

Dan scrunched his eyes closed. It felt like a swing below the belt, using Michael against him like this.

“Michael’s dead. He’s not around to forgive me or not.”

It was a hateful thing to say. It was an insult to his memory and a messy, horrible swing at The Chief’s own grief and Dan was immediately ashamed of himself. This wasn’t him.

 **“Even Chief’s don’t know what happens after death,”** The Chief said calmly, **“You really want to risk an afterlife where Michael’s mad at you?”**

A surprised laugh shocked its way out of Dan’s throat, and he opened his eyes as his hand came up to clamp over his own mouth.

He regained his composure after a moment, then took a deep breath.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” he asked after a moment. The Chief probably didn’t even remember his first name, why was he suddenly offering sage words of wisdom on a rooftop in New Jersey?

The shadow melted away suddenly, until The Chief was just a guy, and Dan was still so surprised at how ordinary he was.

“Michael cared about you,” The Chief said, and the otherworldly timbre was gone too, and his voice was heavy with sadness “Still don’t know why, but either way that’s the truth of the matter. I’m not letting the person my son loved get hurt. It’s the least I can do for him, since I failed to protect him.”

 _The person my son loved._ The ringing was back in Dan’s ears, and so were the tears in his eyes. It felt like getting crushed by an unstoppable gravity, and he rubbed his hand over his mouth to try to keep himself from truly crying.

“There’s something I think you should have,” The Chief said, reaching into his pocket.

Michael’s voice recorder emerged, and Dan really had to focus hard on not crying.

“There was only one tape that I could find,” The Chief informed him, “But I think you might get something out of it. Here.”

He held it out, and Dan took it with trembling fingers. He felt transfixed, unable to take his eyes off this little metallic square that was one of his only lifelines left to his partner.

“You still have my number. Call if you need anything.”

Suddenly Dan was alone, and he looked around, disoriented for a moment and uncertain if he had just dreamed The Chief’s presence. But the voice recorder was still in his hand, and it felt solid and real, so it had to have happened.

He didn’t sleep the rest of the night. The instant he went downstairs to his apartment, he hit play and listened to the tape completely through twice.

The first sound of Michael’s voice made him break down, and he had to pause it barely a minute in because he couldn’t focus on the words when he was busy hyperventilating.

Which was stupid, he kept telling himself. He could go to Cracked right now and look at any of the videos Michael was in to hear his voice and see his face. Even with Michael’s accidental inclusion of the secrets of the universe, The Chief kept Cracked up and running, with only a few tweaks to appease the rest of The Chiefs.

The tape just felt... so much more _personal_. It wasn’t Michael acting for the camera, it wasn’t scripted words coming out of his mouth, it was just him. Doing sound effects and pitching ideas to himself.

It was almost jarring when the tone suddenly changed, and Michael’s voice became soft and conspiratorial.

“Dan Watch, Day One,” Michael’s voice whispered, and Dan realized with a shiver that this must have been the first time Michael broke into his apartment in the middle of the night, “I think the sleep patterns of the wild Dan are going to be a clue into his weird behavior. I’ll update with observations.”

A soft click that indicated that Michael had stopped the recorder, a moment of silence, and then, “Dan snores. It’s not a loud snore, but the way he lays on his stomach with his face all squashed into the pillow is probably the reason. No wonder he’s a grump, his brain isn’t getting enough oxygen when he sleeps.”

Dan was startled by the hysterical laugh that made its way out of his throat, and he muffled it with the back of this hand. It was stupid, but somehow he had forgotten how _funny_ Michael was. And how unabashedly honest.

“It’s also probably because of all the horse food in his fridge,” Michael continued in a whisper, “He has a whole drawer of green leaves. And it looks like he _eats_ them. East coast weirdo.”

Dan pressed stop, laughing at what was clearly Michael’s observation about his vegetable drawer. For a fraction of a moment, he had the thought, _One of these days I’m going to get that guy to eat a proper vegetable._ before reality crashed down on him again and constricted his throat.

He forced himself to take deep, even breaths, then pressed play again.

The “Dan Watch” bits were scattered between other random observations, article ideas, sound clips, and, to Dan’s surprise, even his own voice here and there; tidbits of conversations they had that Dan had almost forgotten.

“Michael, why is there a lego house built around my computer monitor?”

“The internet needs a home to feel a safe and sound, Dan. Otherwise it slows down, don’t you know how this works?”

“That’s definitely not how the internet works.”

“Listen Dan, on the east coast you might power your computers with running turkeys, but out here the electricity is harvested from the sea and it needs to feel _cozy_ for the internet to work.”

“That makes absolutely no sense.”

“I guess they don’t teach computer science on the east coast.”

“Just deconstruct the Lego house, Michael. I’m going to the mainframe to do some research.”

A soft click and the recording jumped to the cheat code for a video game, and so it went until somewhere in the midst of side two.

“Dan Watch one-oh-three,” Michael said softly into the mic. Dan wasn’t sure if Michael had recorded over other “Dan Watch” entries as he went, or if he was just tremendously bad at keeping track, as the last numbered “Dan Watch” had been labeled seventy-eight.

“Dan’s sleeping on his back for once,” Michael whispered, “And he’s kicked all the covers off. He seems to be sleeping better since he stopped being mad at me.”

Dan’s eyebrows furrowed. He was mad at Michael pretty frequently, so he wasn’t sure which occasion Michael was referring to.

“I’m not sorry,” Michael’s voice got even softer, and Dan leaned closer to the speaker to hear, “Mandy just kept hurting him. I’m not sorry for making them break up. No one should hurt Dan like that.”

Dan didn’t know how to quantify the feeling in his chest. Instead of trying, he just kept listening.

There was a few moments of silence, then the sound of a sigh before Michael spoke again, “I don’t understand why Dan makes everything so complicated. He’s the only person on the planet I’ve tried to sleep with who seems completely oblivious to my charms. We could be fucking _right now_ if he wasn’t such a blockhead.”

It felt like the bottom dropped out of Dan’s stomach, and he almost missed the next part from the sound of rushing blood in his ears.

“I could,” Michael whispered, “I could go in there right now. He’s hard, I can see it. Dreaming about someone hot. I could suck his dick and have him coming before he’s even awake.”

Dan was panting, shocked at what he was hearing.

“Fuck, why don’t I want it this way?” Michael sounded frustrated, “Why can’t I just do it? I could. I think he wants me to. But I don’t _know_ and knowing him, he’d run away forever if I’m wrong. Dan _can’t_ go away. I think I’d die.”

The recording clicked off abruptly, and Dan pressed stop immediately.

His head was spinning. Michael breathed flirtation, it was his default mode, and he would later prove via their joint experience with Kelly Wheeler that his hedonistic love for sex could easily include Dan.

But he didn’t know Michael actually _wanted_ him. That his partner had withheld himself over his uncertainty that Dan would reciprocate. That Michael had valued Dan’s presence over the opportunity to get laid.

_The person my son loved._

Dan wondered if The Chief had listened to this tape, had heard his son pining over his partner. If that was why he had come, because he thought Dan should know.

Dan wasn’t sure what was worse, when he hadn’t known and had felt crushed under the weight of all the “what ifs?”, or knowing now that he could have had what he wanted, if he had just opened his mouth.

It was the last “Dan Watch” entry on the tape, the rest of it comprised of joke ideas and a couple ameteur raps that were surprisingly good.

When the tape finished with a click, Dan sat in silence for a few minutes before flipping it over and starting again.

It became a daily ritual. Dan came to know the tape by heart; every inflection of Michael's voice, every beat.

He acknowledged he should stop. It wasn't healthy, it wasn't helping him move on, and it seemed to be making the dreams more vivid.

He dreamed about things that didn't make sense. Things he somehow felt were true but he had no idea how.

He dreamed of a baby-faced, teenage Michael getting getting shoved out of a car, of a blurry stranger calling him a fag and kicking him in the face as he lay vulnerable on black asphalt. The sight of blood pouring from Michael’s nose and bruises blooming under his eyes almost made Dan sick. It made rage swell up in his chest, and he never wanted to hurt anyone the way he wanted to destroy the man hurting Michael.

And still he couldn't do a damn thing. Michael was hurting, vulnerable and alone and Dan couldn't reach out, couldn't interfere, no matter how hard he tried.

It was just a dream, but it _felt_ real, and it shook him.

It wasn't the only dream that felt like that. Some were just as upsetting, but some were just soft and wistful and made Dan feel swallowed up by sadness and longing.

He dreamed about Michael sitting on the floor in his room, watching him sleep. About Michael looking at him forlornly, and reaching out his hand to ever-so-gently touch the sleeve of Dan’s sleep shirt with his fingertips.

Dan turned on the lamp next to his bed the instant he woke up, squinting and shaking in the bright glow and wanting _so much_ to see his partner there, but instead finding himself painfully, crushingly alone.

He needed to stop. He needed to move on, let Michael go and start to move past him but he just couldn't. Not when he knew that Michael had loved him back but they had both been too stupid to just come out and say it.

Six months after Michael’s death, and Sarge plopped down on the opposite side of the diner booth Dan was sitting in. It was almost three in the morning and Dan was working at his laptop and drinking cup after cup of coffee. He was trying to write a book about Presidents, but it wasn’t very good yet.

Sarge’s sudden appearance interrupted a paragraph about James Madison’s college poetry, and Dan sat back in his seat, blinking in surprise.

“At ease, O’Brien,” Sarge said, scrutinizing him with his non-eye-patch-covered eye.

“What are you doing here?” Dan’s surprise overrode his manners, and Sarge snorted.

“Is that any way to treat your commanding officer?”

Being talked down to by Sarge was somehow strangely comforting in its familiarity, and Dan took several deep breaths to keep himself from being weird and emotional.

“Sorry, Sarge,” he finally said, “Won’t happen again.”

“You’re damn right it won’t,” Sarge nodded, then a corner of his mouth quirked up, and he held his hand out across the table, “It’s good to see you, kid.”

Dan took Sarge’s hand and shook it, and he felt himself smile a little for the first time in months.

Sarge’s hair was buzzed short again, and there was a new stripe of pink scar tissue running across his tank-top exposed shoulder, suggesting that he was back in military action. Dan wondered what top-tier secret missions his former temporary boss was running, but figured he was better off not knowing. Dan also wasn’t sure how Sarge wasn’t cold without a jacket in the middle of a New Jersey winter, but he didn’t bother to ask.

“It’s good to see you too, Sarge. But, uh... what _are_ you doing here?”

Sarge sat back in his seat and flagged the waitress down, ordering a coffee for himself before answering.

“I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d drop by.”

“And by ‘in the neighborhood’...?”

“DC, but that’s all you’re getting without a bounty being put on your head.”

“Right,” Dan chuckled, shutting his laptop and putting it aside, “And you’re absolutely not here because The Chief wanted you to check up on me, right?”

Sarge sighed, and frowned at him, “You know, O’Brien, most people appreciate it when other people are concerned about them.”

Color rose to Dan’s face, and Sarge quirked an eyebrow, “But no, smartass, I’m not actually here because of The Chief, he has a lot easier ways to check up on you than me. I told you, I was in the neighborhood and I figured I’d drop in.”

“How did you know I was here, though, and not at home? I mean... it is 3am.”

“Your phone’s GPS, how do you think? Honestly, O’Brien, don’t you watch any TV? Procedural shows are mostly bullshit, but they do get some stuff right.”

Dan couldn’t help but laugh, and Sarge grinned.

“Fuck, I miss this,” Dan said, “That’s probably fucking weird, but I do. I miss so much about Cracked.”

“You could always go back,” Sarge said lightly, “You know The Chief would hire you on again.”

Dan shook his head, and sadness settled over him again. The momentary reprieve was gone, “No. I just can’t handle that.”

Sarge nodded understandingly, then took a sip of his black coffee and glanced out the diner window. It was hard to see out, with the way the lights overhead turned the glass into a mirror, and Dan stared for a moment at their reflections.

“You look like shit,” Sarge commented eventually, and Dan chortled. He wasn’t wrong, Dan did look like shit. He was down fifteen pounds and up one beard, his hair was long enough for his natural curl to start to show, and the permanent circles under his eyes made him look like a raccoon.

“Yep,” Dan just said in answer, and Sarge kicked him lightly under the table.

“You’re not doing yourself or anyone else any good by wasting away,” Sarge said sternly, “The next time I see you I expect you back in fighting shape, got it? Or else I might just call in a few favors, and trust me when I say it won’t be as fun.”

Dan chortled, but Sarge was glaring, and Dan had a feeling he wasn’t playing.

“Yessir,” Dan said nervously, “I’ll... I’ll try, Sarge.”

Sarge nodded sharply, then drank some more coffee.

“You need to take care too,” Dan said after a moment, nodding at the scar on Sarge’s shoulder, “I don’t want The Chief telling me you’ve gone on some suicide mission.”

“Pft,” Sarge waved his hand, but the corners of his mouth were turned up in a little grin, “Takes a lot more to kill me than that. You don’t get to my rank by being a pussy. The Chief hired the deadliest assassin in the world to find me, just to make sure I was tough enough to take over Cracked. I killed him with a doorknob.”

Somehow Dan had no doubt that that was true, though he had no idea how the doorknob came into play.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I took out an entire base of militants with nothing but a nail clipper and a ficus?”

Dan smiled, “You have not.”

“So there I was...”

They stayed long enough that the morning breakfast crowd started to trickle in, and Sarge generously picked up the bill and left the waitress a very large tip as they finally left.

“Remember, O’Brien, any and all presidential anecdotes were never heard from me.”

Dan nodded, smiling. When he had told Sarge about his book, Sarge had immediately launched into a multitude of stories about secret presidential talents. It was incredible, and Dan had taken ample notes.

“Mum’s the word, Sarge. Even if the FBI show up at my door again.”

Sarge rolled his single eye and sighed, “Morons. Bad enough we had to deal with them once.”

Dan shook his head with amusement.

“Well, O’Brien, I’m afraid it’s time for us to part ways,” they were stopped beside Dan’s car, and Sarge held his hand out again. Dan hurriedly shifted his belonging to his left hand so he could take it and give Sarge a firm handshake, “Take care of yourself. I’ll drop in when I can.”

“You too,” Dan nodded, “Stay safe, Sarge.”

“I always do, Dan,” Sarge grinned, then gave a lazy salute with two fingers before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking away.

“You need a ride somewhere, Sarge?” Dan called after him, and Sarge barely turned his head to shout back.

“Taken care of, O’Brien! Go home!”

With that, he rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

So Dan went home. And for the first time in months, he actually felt okay. His conversation with Sarge had made him forget about his grief for a little while, and his heart didn’t feel quite as heavy.

When he crawled into bed to sleep for a few hours, he still dreamed about Michael. But it was one of the few nice dreams, where Michael was excitedly telling him about some adventure involving a sock puppet and a can of whipped cream at his desk at the Cracked office while they ate lunch.

It was beautifully mundane, and Dan woke up longing for Michael and missing California like the feeling had carved a hole in his guts.

He considered what Sarge had said, about going back. The problem was that so many of the things he missed were hopelessly tied up with Michael; remove him from the equation and it was like a scarf unraveling. It just wouldn’t work, no matter how much he wanted it to.

So he stayed in New Jersey, and dreamed about his partner.

Eight months after Michael’s death, and Dan woke up shaking and nauseous and drenched with sweat. The image of Michael tearing apart his old apartment in a fit of rage and pain had shaken him to the core; it felt _real_ , he could _feel_ Michael’s pain and hopelessness and anger so intensely.

He didn’t know why, couldn’t parse the source of Michael’s anguish from the dream, but it still hurt, raw and aching in his chest and he couldn’t stop the sob that burst from his throat. He had tried so hard to reach out, had ached so badly to touch Michael and quell the storm, and for a nanosecond it felt like he had.

Michael had stopped, panting and shaking and it almost felt like he was looking straight at Dan before Dan jolted awake.

Dan tried to steady his breathing and failed, and finally caved to the sobs that were fighting to get out of his chest.

He hated crying. It made him feel so weak, so unbalanced. But no matter how much he wanted to stop he didn’t seem to be able to, until his body had exhausted itself and he could finally breathe normally again.

He looked at the clock. It was only about two in the morning, and his limbs felt heavy with exhaustion, but his mind was buzzing. He felt anxious, and devastated, and he couldn’t get Michael’s anguished face out of his head.

BANG BANG BANG.

Dan jumped, his heart in his throat with fright. Someone was banging at his front door, and the idea that he was about to get murdered by some drug-fueled psycho immediately came to his head.

_**Open the fucking door, O’Brien.** _

It felt like The Chief’s voice was _inside_ Dan’s head, and he nearly fell out of bed in his panicked attempt to get up.

He fumbled for his glasses and shoved them on his face, then somehow managed to make it to his front door without tripping over any furniture and breaking his neck. The Chief pushed authoritatively by him and into Dan’s apartment before Dan could get a single word out.

**“Do you mind if I drop the smoke and mirrors? It takes effort and there are more important things I need to focus on right now.”**

The Chief snapped his fingers and Dan’s lights came on, and Dan stood dumbly in the doorway of his apartment for a moment, the door still open. He came to his senses after a few seconds of The Chief standing there staring at him.

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure, go for it,” he stammered, finally closing the door, and The Chief nodded once before the shadows melted away.

“What are you doing here, Chief?” Dan asked meekly, “I mean, it’s nice to see you and everything, it’s just, well-”

“I’m here because I’m a goddamn idiot,” The Chief spat, annoyed, “Any dumber and I’d be you.”

Dan was mostly used to The Chief’s carousel of insults by then, but they still stung on occasion, and Dan frowned, crossing his arms and looking down at the floor. He was too tired and too distressed to be equipped to handle this right now.

“We can save Michael.”

Dan raised his head so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash, and his heart was suddenly beating triple time.

“What?” he breathed, almost light headed.

“We can save Michael,” The Chief repeated, “That’s why I’m a fucking idiot. It took me so fucking long to figure out.”

“How?”

If this was some kind of cruel prank, Dan would march up to the roof right now and throw himself off. He never wanted anything the way he wanted Michael back.

“I told you that even Chiefs don’t know what lies after death,” The Chief said, “But that’s not entirely true. What you humans mythically call ‘The Veil of Death’ is actually just other dimensions. Every living thing passes through them before entering the afterlife, whatever the hell that actually consists of.”

Dan had no idea where this was going, but he was listening with bated breath regardless.

“I can see into those other dimensions. And I can see Michael trapped in one. He should have moved on by now, or manifested somewhere if he was going to become a ghost. But he hasn’t. He’s just _stuck_ and I couldn’t figure out why.”

The Chief was suddenly in motion, shoving Dan’s coffee table out of the way and up against the wall and Dan gasped in alarm as the various book piles on it wobbled precariously.

“Then _you_ ,” The Chief pointed an accusatory finger, and Dan’s heart was in his throat nervously, “I couldn’t figure out why the fuck you were so special. You shouldn’t have lasted six months, let alone three years. And I’m a _fucking idiot_ for not seeing it sooner.”

Dan still had no idea what was happening, and he opened his mouth to say so but The Chief cut in sharply, “ _Shut up._ ”

Dan closed his mouth again with a click.

“You dream about him,” The Chief said. It wasn’t a question, “But it’s not just regular dreams, right? They feel _real_. You dreamed about him tonight, didn’t you?”

Dan swallowed thickly, and nodded.

“But it was different. Tell me why.”

Dan opened his mouth, but no sound came out for a second. He cleared his throat and tried again, “I don’t... I don’t know, exactly. I just... he was so upset, and I wanted to make it stop and...”

“And he reacted. He stopped.”

Dan nodded mutely, and The Chief nodded.

“I could see it. Usually I can only see Michael, but this time I saw you too, and that’s when I finally figured it out.”

“Figured _what_ out?” Dan couldn’t stop the frustration from leaking into his tone. He still didn’t understand how any of this was going to get Michael back.

“That’s not just _dreams_ , dipshit,” The Chief growled, “That’s _actually him_. You’re seeing what he’s seeing in that dimension. _You’re_ the reason he hasn’t moved on, you’re his tether to our world.”

Dan’s head was spinning. There was a time in his life that he would have found everything The Chief was saying to be ludicrous, but now he wasn’t so sure. He was really starting to think that anything was possible.

“How? Why? _How?_ ”

“Congratulations, you’re the soulmate of a Chief.”

Dan stared blankly. The Chief stared back, his face stone cold serious and Dan suddenly felt the need to sit down.

“You’re not being metaphorical, are you?” he asked meekly as he unsteadily moved toward his sofa and sank down weakly onto the cushions.

“No,” The Chief replied, “I’m not.”

“And _I’m_...?”

“Yes. That’s why we can rescue Michael. As long as you’re alive, he can’t go into the afterlife, which means there’s still a way to bring him back to earth.”

“How?” It was the question of the night.

“There’s a spell,” The Chief said, “We’re going to do it tonight.”

Dan nodded dumbly again, and he realized he was shaking.

“Hey,” The Chief crouched down, and put a hand on Dan’s shoulder tightly, “This is a lot.”

“Yeah,” Dan breathed, and The Chief nodded.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Chew Toy.”

Dan couldn’t help but laugh at that; at both the nickname and the strangeness of kind reassurances coming from The Chief. He took a moment to collect himself, then took several deep breaths.

“What do I have to do?”

The Chief nodded, and fished a little navy-blue draw-string pouch from his pocket.

“Go shower, and use this for soap.”

Dan pulled it open and peeked inside. A white lump sat at the bottom, flecked with darker colors and he poked at it curiously. His finger came away oily, and he sniffed at it with mild trepidation.

“What is this?” he asked, and The Chief straightened, stepping away.

“Salt, peppermint oil, lavender, rosemary... a few other things. Purification herbs, Daniel. This is some heavy duty magic we’re about to do, and requires some old magic cleaning.”

“Oh.”

“Well? What are you waiting for? Go!”

“Oh!” Dan hurriedly got to his feet and headed toward his bathroom.

As he stepped into the hot spray with the herb lump, Dan’s mind started to whirl.

_Soulmates?!_

It was _insane_. He didn’t want to believe it, the very idea was pure nonsense. Far more likely was the idea that The Chief was telling the truth, that he could bring Michael back, but he needed a human sacrifice and was just feeding Dan the soulmates line to get him to go quietly.

He wasn’t sure which was scarier, honestly.

The idea that Michael was unequivocally The One should have been a relief. Should have Dan envisioning a wedding and a house with a dog somewhere.

But what if Michael didn’t _want_ Dan as his soulmate? Michael loving him was one thing, but would he want this seemingly magical connection? A connection so strong it could keep Michael from death?

What if it was a disappointment? What if Dan wasn’t enough? In normal relationships, if things weren’t working out, you could go your separate ways, but what about soulmates?

Dan’s brain was buzzing. He loved Michael, and hated a life without him with every fiber of his being, but what if ten years from now they hated each other and had no way out?

The very idea made him feel sick. Even in the height of Michael’s absolute worst nonsense, Dan couldn’t find it in himself to hate him. Even when Dan was at his absolute angriest, or his absolute lowest, drinking liquor from the bottle on the floor of the elevator, he still couldn’t imagine walking away from his partnership with Michael, and their little life at Cracked.

With that simple realization, all the pieces suddenly fell into place.

He wasn’t capable of hating Michael. And if he wasn’t capable, maybe Michael wasn’t capable of hating him either. Even when Dan pestered him to do his work, or spoiled Michael’s weird plans, or yelled at him for the reckless things he did.

Michael had never stayed angry or annoyed with him for more than a day, had never thrown horrible words in Dan’s face if they argued. He was the only person Dan knew who almost always seemed pleased to see him, who sought him out and chose to remain in Dan’s company, even when their desks had been on opposite sides of the office.

By the time Dan had finished scrubbing himself down with the salty herb bar and watched the last of it dissolve on his skin before swirling down the drain, his head was clear.

Whatever happened tonight, whatever Michael felt about this revelation, Dan had to believe that eventually it would all work out. That he would wake up tomorrow with his partner back, whatever that came to mean, and the world would be better no matter what because Michael was back in it. End of story.

When he drew back the curtain on his shower, he found a plain, white shirt and white, drawstring pants waiting for him.

He had no idea where The Chief had pulled them from, but he seemingly had the ability to teleport, so the idea that he had gone somewhere to get them wasn’t overruled as a possibility.

They were soft cotton, and fit perfectly, and Dan toweled off thoroughly before sliding them on.

Between the rough scrub of the salt and the slick peppermint oil, Dan’s skin felt super soft and he smelled surprisingly nice.

He stared at himself in the mirror for a few minutes.

He still looked thin, and the dark bags under his eyes had not waned. He turned his head one way, and then the other, looking at his hair and beard with scrutiny.

He got the shaving cream and a razor from under the sink.

The last time Michael had seen him, he’d had a buzz cut and was clean shaven. He wasn’t touching his hair, he didn’t have his buzz clippers anymore, they had been a lost casualty of his hurried move and he hadn’t bothered to replace them. But he could at least shave, he could give Michael that token of normality to come home to.

He almost felt like a stranger, looking in the mirror afterwards. He wondered if Michael would see him as a stranger too.

His nerves were starting to make him tremble as he stepped out of the bathroom and entered the living room, and he balked at the state of it.

The Chief had pushed all his furniture against the walls, and in the middle of the floor was a large circle, seemingly spray-painted onto the carpet with a plethora of symbols Dan couldn’t even begin to identify.

“I’m never getting my deposit back,” he groaned, running his hands over his head anxiously, and The Chief scoffed.

“We’re about to perform a resurrection and you're worried about a deposit?”

The Chief stepped out of his kitchen, dressed the same way Dan was, but entirely black instead of white. Dan noticed that he was carrying one of Dan’s metal kitchen bowls in one hand, and was immediately suspicious of its purpose.

“Resurrection or no, I still have to pay for it,” Dan sighed, and The Chief rolled his eyes.

“I repeat, _we’re about to perform a resurrection_. Do you really think I can’t handle a little spray paint?”

Dan had to concede that he had a point with that one.

“Will you just get over here, O’Brien?”

Dan hurriedly stepped further into the room, and The Chief waved him to the center of the circle.

“What, uh... what exactly is the procedure here?” Dan asked nervously, finally getting a peek at the contents of the large bowl, and was a little freaked out to see it seemed to be a grayish black powder.

“We do the right steps, say the right words, and it allows us to pull Michael back to our world via you. Like pulling a fish in on a line.”

“And... and that?” Dan nodded to the bowl, and The Chief gave him a critical look.

“Would it make a difference either way?”

“I’d prefer to know what to expect from this,” Dan swallowed nervously.

“I’m going to use this,” The Chief indicated the bowl, “to draw symbols on you. They’re going to work as a way to open the dimensions so we can get to Michael.”

“And what... is that?”

The Chief gave him a long stare, and an overwhelming understanding nearly knocked Dan sideways.

“That’s Michael’s ashes, isn’t it?” he squeaked, and The Chief sighed.

“Yes. You going to be a pussy about it?”

Dan shook his head vigorously, though he was shaking harder now.

“It’s going to be okay, Chew Toy,” The Chief said with surprising gentleness, “Sit down.”

Dan sat on the floor unsteadily, criss-crossing his legs and The Chief mirrored him, their knees bumping up against each other.

Dan took a few steadying breaths.

“Ready?”

Dan nodded, and The Chief nodded in answer before dipping his hand into the bowl of ashes in his lap. Michael’s ashes.

The Chief started speaking in a language that was alien to Dan, and drew the first symbol on Dan’s left forearm.

Dan’s skin tingled every place The Chief smeared the ash, and Dan wasn’t sure if that was the magic or just his skin reacting to the surreal reality of having his partner’s ashes applied to his body.

Symbols crawled up both arms and onto his white shirt, the backs of his hands, the inside of his wrists. Dan trembled as swirling symbols were spread across his neck, applied to his forehead, and finally across his chest and abdomen.

Dan’s teeth were chattering, and it’s was _definitely_ the magic making his skin feel like it was about to levitate right off of his muscles.

The Chief looked him in the eye as he pressed his palm flat into the remaining ashes in the bowl, then raised his hand to Dan’s chest.

He gave a little nod as if to ask, _Ready?_ and Dan nodded back.

The Chief placed his hand flat on Dan’s chest, over his rapidly beating heart, and suddenly Dan wasn’t in his apartment anymore.

He blinked rapidly, disoriented and shaken, and it dawned on him where he was. He had seen this house before, in his dreams. He thought it was a construct of his imagination, or maybe something he had seen in a movie that his brain was recycling. But if he really had been connecting with Michael all these months, it had to be from Michael’s past.

_**Find him.** _

The Chief’s voice in his head startled him, but it also pushed him into motion, and he got up from the floor and made his way through the house.

It was a shabby, rundown rancher, and Dan moved from the living room and down the hall. He peeked into a bedroom that appeared to be the master, and took in the tiny vanity that looked on the verge of collapse from all the makeup, perfume, and hair products bulging out of its drawers and stacked haphazardly on top. The rest of the room seemed just as much in disarray, with piles of clothes stacked on a chair and overflowing from the closet and dresser.

Dan moved on, taking a quick glance into the shabby bathroom before reaching the bedroom at the end of the hall.

His heart clenched as he took it all in. It was undoubtedly Michael’s room, with faded posters of action heroes and cartoons on the walls, mixed in with hand-drawn art that was unmistakably Michael’s. Dan had seen very similar doodles every day on the whiteboard by his desk.

There was a single bookshelf that served more as toy storage, along with a little twin bed that Dan imagined Michael grew out of very quickly as a teenager.

But still no Michael. He looked around a second time, ready to try going outside, when his eyes fell on the closet.

He opened it, and found his partner curled up in a little ball in the corner.

“Michael!” he gasped, sinking to his knees and gripping Michael’s arms, “Michael!”

Michael looked up slowly, squinting a little, and it put a confused crease between his eyebrows.

“Michael, it’s me, it’s Dan!” Dan said, smiling with relief and joy he hadn’t felt in almost a year.

Still Michael didn’t seem to recognize him, and Dan’s emotions creeped toward alarm.

A sudden bang from further back in the house and Michael and Dan both jumped, and Michael pulled him hurriedly into the closet with him.

“Michael, what-”

“Shh!” Michael sounded frantic, “It’s my mom’s boyfriend, you have to be quiet!”

“Son of a bitch!” came an angry shout, muffled through the wood of the door, “Where the fuck is that little shit?”

Dan and Michael were both panting, cramped together in the little closet, and the pure terror in Michael’s eyes made Dan’s heart feel like it was breaking into a million peices.

“He can’t hurt you,” Dan said softly, reaching out and cupping Michael’s face gently, “Michael, he can’t hurt you. I’m here to rescue you, and he’s never going to hurt you again. No one is.”

Michael’s eyebrows remained furrowed, and Dan breathed shakily.

“Picture somewhere else, Michael. Picture somewhere safe,” Dan encouraged, “I know you can do it, concentrate.”

Michael screwed his eyes shut, and another bang echoed through the house, seemingly closer than before, and Michael clasped his hands over his ears with a whimper.

“You can do this,” Dan encouraged again, “It’s going to be okay, Michael. I promise.”

Suddenly there was quiet, and they were still cramped close together, but instead of in a closet they seemed to be under a desk.

Dan peeked out, and nearly burst into tears at the sight of their old office.

“Michael,” Dan gave him a gentle shake; his partner still had his eyes scrunched closed and his hands over his ears. Dan gently pulled his hands down, “Michael, you’re okay, you’re safe.”

Michael opened his eyes slowly, disoriented and still frightened, and Dan cupped his face again.

“Michael, do you know who I am?” he asked softly, and Michael just stared at him for several long moments.

“You’re not real,” he finally whispered, “You’re not _real_.”

Tears dripped from Michael’s eyes, and Dan made a pained sound at the sight of it.

“Michael, I promise you I’m here,” his voice cracked, and he wiped Michael’s tears away gently with his thumbs, “I promise you. I’m here to take you home. We’re going _home_ , Michael. And I’m never letting you go again, I swear to god.”

Michael shook his head, and Dan didn’t know what to do.

_**Convince him. You have to convince him, he has to want to come with you, or we won’t be able to bring him home.** _

The Chief’s voice almost sounded urgent, and Dan wondered what it was costing The Chief to do this spell. He had to hurry.

“Michael, listen to me,” Dan said softly, “I heard the tape, The Chief gave it to me. Do you remember when you changed all the cushions of my couch around, to see if I would notice? Or when you filled my dashboard compartment with candy?”

Michael gave the tiniest of smiles, and Dan’s own lips gave a relieved smile of their own, “You said on the tape that you did it because you wanted to see if you could make me happier without me realizing it, right?”

Michael gave a tiny nod.

“You make me so happy, Michael,” Dan said softly, “You make me so happy and I love you so much. You understand? I love you, and I want you to come with me so we can go home.”

More tears fell from Michael’s eyes and his lower lip trembled, and Dan wiped them away again with a gentle swipe of his thumb.

“Dan,” Michael whispered, and Dan unabashedly climbed into Michael’s lap to wrap his arms around him, like he should have done three years ago, when there was a bomb over their heads and they were crammed together under this very desk.

He had felt it then, the pull toward Michael that just got stronger and stronger through the years, and he couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if he had caved the first time he had felt that pull.

“Dan,” Michael whispered again, his arms wrapping tightly around Dan’s body and his face pressed against Dan’s chest.

 _ **Hold on tight.**_ The Chief’s voice rang in his head, and Dan squeezed Michael close to him as hard as he could.

It felt like a hook was suddenly dug into his middle, and Dan grit his teeth and held on tight at the sudden _pull_. Michael clung to him, thank god, and Dan closed his eyes as the colors around them started to shift and blur in a nauseating way.

Pressure, pressure, pressure, squeezing all around them, and Dan held on until he was shaking and panting and praying it would be over soon because he didn’t know how much more he could take.

Dan must have passed out. The next thing he was aware of, he was on his back on the floor, his whole body aching and a headache pounding through his skull.

“Well done, Chew Toy,” The Chief’s voice said, before thumping Dan on the chest. Dan groaned.

“Can you open your eyes?”

Dan gave it his best shot, though his eyelids felt heavy. The Chief’s face hovered above him, mildly blurry, and Dan realized it was because his glasses has been removed.

Dan swallowed, his mouth dry, and The Chief thumped him again.

“Where’s Michael?” Dan managed to whisper, and The Chief looked off to the side. Weakly Dan turned his head to follow his line of sight, and his breath left him in an exhale.

Michael was there, right next to him. The Chief had taken the comforter from Dan’s bed and had put it over Michael, but Dan could tell from the bit of Michael’s bare shoulder that he was naked.

“He’s okay?” Dan whispered weakly, and The Chief squeezed his shoulder.

“He’s okay. He’s gonna be out of it for a while, but he’s going to be okay. You did good, Daniel.”

Relief poured over Dan like water, and he let his eyes slip back closed with a hitched breath.

The Chief stretched the comforter out to cover Dan too, and Dan weakly sought Michael’s hand under it.

Michael’s fingers were cold, but Dan concentrated on listening and nearly cried when he could hear Michael breathing.

“Sleep now,” The Chief said, and Dan couldn’t fight it if he tried.

When he woke up, there was light coming in through the windows.

He squinted against it. His back was sore from laying on the floor, and the rest of his body just ached in a general sort of way. It probably had something to do with the fact that he had been dragged through several dimensions with Michael’s soul clinging to him.

He still felt weak, but not as much as before, and he slowly turned his head to look to his side.

Michael was still there.

Dan spent several minutes just staring at Michael’s sleeping face. He never thought he’d see him again, and doing so now was making it feel like his chest was full of light.

“Alright, O’Brien?”

Dan’s eyes shifted to follow the sound of The Chief’s voice.

The Chief was sitting on his sofa, wedged against the side cushion with his legs drawn up. He looked exhausted, and Dan sat up slowly, wincing at the sore pang of his muscles. He looked around for his glasses, and The Chief pointed lazily off to Dan’s left.

“Thanks,” Dan mumbled as he found them, and slipped them onto his face. The world got a little sharper.

He looked around. There was still a spray-paint circle and magic symbols in the middle of his living room, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be terribly upset about it at the moment. He also realized that the symbols The Chief had put on his body were completely gone, and he couldn’t help but breathe a little sigh of relief.

His eyes were drawn back to Michael, and he stared for a long moment.

“Has he been awake yet?” Dan asked, looking up at The Chief, and he shook his head.

“Not yet. His body’s rebuilding essentially from scratch, it takes time.”

Dan nodded.

“Are you okay, Chief?” he asked, and The Chief quirked an eyebrow, “I mean... that spell didn’t hurt you, did it?”

The Chief looked surprised at Dan’s concern, and just stared at him for a moment before answering, “No, Chew Toy, it didn’t hurt me. Just draining.”

Dan nodded, and they both filled the silence by looking at Michael again.

Dan snuck another glance at The Chief. He looked worn and sad and tired, and Dan wasn’t sure what to do.

“Are you _sure_ you’re okay?” Dan asked again after a moment. 

The Chief didn’t answer at first, and Dan twisted his hands in the comforter that had pooled around his waist.

“He suffered longer than he should have, and it’s my fault,” The Chief finally said, and Dan was caught off guard by the honesty. He was expecting The Chief to brush him off again.

“You didn’t know.”

“I should have,” The Chief frowned darkly, “I should have figured it out sooner.”

Dan wasn’t sure what to say. He had a feeling false platitudes weren’t going to help.

“I didn’t know Michael existed until he was twenty, did you know that?”

Dan blinked rapidly. He hadn’t known that, and he was shocked that The Chief was being so open about it.

“I didn’t know that,” Dan said simply.

“I saw him on the news, getting arrested for arson. And something just clicked, and I knew he was mine.”

Dan remained quiet, just watching The Chief watching Michael.

“I’ve done a pretty shit job looking after him. The best way I could figure to keep him safe was to keep the truth from him, and keep him off the radar of the others. He still ended up dead, and he still didn’t have a father.”

“You tried to protect him,” Dan murmured, “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

The Chief raised his eyes to Dan’s face, and Dan suddenly felt impossibly small in the shadow of how ancient The Chief felt, his energy talking up all the air in the room.

“You saved him,” Dan said gently, “You saved him, and you saved me, and that’s enough. And you have time to make up for the years you didn’t know. Trust me, Chief, if anyone knows about regretting for lost time, it’s me. And I’m not wasting another fucking second of it, and neither should you.”

The Chief seemed slightly taken aback by Dan’s little speech, and he looked at Dan intensely for a few moments.

“Not sure how I found you, O’Brien, but you sure are something else,” The Chief said after a moment, and Dan found himself blushing.

“Thank you, sir,” Dan mumbled, and The Chief’s mouth quirked up on one side in amusement.

Suddenly his eyes snapped back to Michael, “He’s coming around.”

Dan got to his knees, hovering over Michael and watching his face intently. Michael's eyelids fluttered and he inhaled deeply, and Dan waited with bated breath.

Finally Michael's eyes cracked open, and he squinted against the light of the room.

“Michael?” Dan asked softly, and Michael tilted his head slightly to focus on him, “Michael, can you hear me?”

Michael seemed a little disoriented, and Dan gently cupped his face.

“Michael?” he called gently again, and Michael squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again and focusing on Dan’s face with furrowed brows.

“Dan?” Michael whispered hoarsely, and Dan smiled and stroked Michael’s cheek with his thumb.

“Yeah, Michael, I’m here.”

Dan expected Michael to be relieved, and hopefully happy, but instead he closed his eyes again and his lower lip trembled.

“Hey hey hey,” Dan said softly, immediately worried and anxious, and he glanced up at The Chief, who was watching them with a neutral expression, “Michael, what’s the matter?”

“Hurts too much,” Michael whispered, “I don’t want to see you anymore, it hurts too much.”

Dan felt like his world was crumbling down, and he looked back up at The Chief, completely at a loss. The Chief’s face was still neutral, calculating, and Dan didn’t understand how he was so calm.

Michael turned his head away from Dan’s hand, and Dan withdrew with a thick swallow.

“I just want to go home,” Michael murmured, “I just want the real Dan, I just want to go home.”

“He doesn’t understand,” The Chief finally spoke softly, and Dan looked at him, frowning in confusion, “He doesn’t know he’s out of that place, he thinks you’re an illusion.”

“Michael, you are home,” Dan said gently, touching his shoulder hesitantly, “This is real, Michael, you’re home. I’m real.”

Michael just shook his head, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, and Dan felt tears threatening to overtake him too.

“Michael, please,” Dan whispered, “Please believe me.”

Michael opened his eyes again, and he was breathing shakily, “Please go away. You’re not real.”

“Michael, look at me,” Dan said desperately, “Look at my hair, look at my clothes, when have you ever seen me look like this? Look around this room. Have you ever been here before? This is _real_ , Michael, _look_.”

Michael was shaking, but he finally looked. He frowned as he scrutinized Dan closely, his eyes scanning from Dan’s hair to his face and down his chest. Dan suddenly regretted shaving, it would have helped distinguish the real him from the Dan Michael had known and clearly envisioned in the other dimension.

Dan held his breath as Michael finally looked around the unfamiliar apartment, and his eyes landed on The Chief. Dan looked up at him too, and the smoke and mirrors were back, and Dan guessed because he wanted Michael to recognize him.

“Chief,” Michael murmured.

 **“Hello, Michael,”** The Chief rumbled.

Michael slowly looked back to Dan, a crease between his eyebrows, but Dan felt sure that he was beginning to believe them.

Weakly Michael pushed the comforter down, and Dan’s heart fluttered rapidly as Michael reached slowly for his face.

Michael’s hand cupped his jaw, and his thumb traced Dan’s cheekbone. Dan held perfectly still, allowing Michael to touch him any way he wanted, and Michael’s hand crept up against the side of his head to touch his hair.

He threaded his fingers through the longer strands, and Dan fought the temptation to put his hand over Michael’s and hold him there.

“Remember when we were hiding in that closet, Michael?” Dan asked softly, and Michael gave a tiny nod, “Remember when I asked you to make it go away, to take us somewhere else?”

Michael nodded again, and Dan gave him a little, encouraging smile, “Try doing that again.”

Michael looked perplexed, but he closed his eyes again and his face scrunched in concentration. After a few moments, he opened his eyes, and frowned as he looked around.

“See?” Dan murmured, “It’s real, Michael, that’s why you can’t change it. I’m really here. You’re alive, Michael, you’re out of that place.”

Michael’s lip trembled, and Dan reached out to cup his face again as Michael’s fingers tightened in his hair.

“Dan,” Michael said, his voice watery, and Dan let him pull him down, and was all too happy to let Michael put his arms around him.

“You’re safe,” Dan whispered gently, “You’re safe, Michael, it’s all okay.”

Dan braced one arm above Michael’s head, and slid his fingers into his thick hair while his other arm tucked up against Michael’s side.

Michael’s breathing was hitched and his tears wet Dan’s shoulder, but after a few minutes of gently petting his hair and softly whispering “It’s okay,” Michael started to calm down.

He pushed Dan away after a few more minutes, and grabbed his shoulders.

“You look terrible, what’s happened to you?” Michael asked, and Dan couldn’t help but laugh.

“I missed you, that’s what happened, you jerk,” Dan wrapped his fingers around Michael’s forearms, stroking the inside of his arms with his thumbs, “You’re not allowed to die ever again.”

“I’ll work on that,” Michael answered, his hands getting briefly tighter on Dan’s shoulders. He looked away and toward The Chief, who was still sitting on Dan’s sofa, silent and still.

“Chief,” Michael said, and The Chief rose from the sofa.

 **“Good to have you back, son,”** The Chief said, and Michael smiled.

“Thanks, Chief. Uh... where are we?” Michael asked, looking around again.

“New Jersey,” Dan answered, and Michael gasped.

“The east coast?! What the hell are we doing here?”

“I moved back for a while. The Chief came here to find me so we could rescue you.”

“Why on earth would you do that?” Michael asked with a frown, and Dan paused, but decided to be honest.

“Because I didn’t want to live in a California that didn’t have you in it,” he said quietly, and Michael’s expression immediately changed to something vulnerable.

“Oh.”

A few moments of heavy silence, then The Chief interrupted it with a question.

**“It should be safe for Michael to move now. I can’t imagine the floor is terribly comfortable, you two want to take this somewhere else?”**

Helping Michael up and supporting him between the two of them was a welcome distraction from the heavy silence a few moments before, and they made their way toward Dan’s bedroom.

“Why am I naked?” Michael asked when they were about halfway there, and Dan chortled.

 **“Because dying isn’t glamorous, and neither is resurrection,”** The Chief said gruffly, and Michael frowned.

“Yeah, but-” he started to protest, and The Chief sighed.

**“Because you were a bowl of ashes when we started, and you had to be rebuilt from scratch. Magic doesn’t really care about clothes when it comes to that.”**

“Magic’s a perv,” Michael decided, then after a moment of contemplation, “Wait, rebuilt? Am I a robot now?!”

Dan was laughing, and trying not to. He had missed this so severely, hadn’t realized how much Michael’s strange brain had become a vital part of his life.

**“No, you nitwit. You’re not a robot. You’re exactly as you were before you stupidly got yourself killed, alright? Shut up.”**

The amusement deflated a bit, and they gently helped Michael to lie down on Dan’s bed and tucked him in. The Chief went to fetch the comforter from the living room to restore it to the bed, and Dan sat next to Michael for a moment.

“The Chief missed you,” Dan said quietly, “I know he doesn’t act like it, but he did.”

Michael gave a little smile, “I know. Dad’s a tough cookie, that’s all.”

Dan was pleasantly surprised by Michael’s insight, but The Chief came back into the room with the comforter so he remained silent.

They put it back on the bed, and Dan eyed the space beside Michael longingly. He was still tired and sore himself, and the idea of crawling into bed with Michael was a dream.

 **“I’m going home,”** The Chief said, **“I’ll check on you both tomorrow. I have some things to take care of.”**

Dan had a feeling The Chief was a lot more affected from the night’s events than he was letting on, and he couldn’t blame him for wanting to excuse himself now that they knew Michael was okay.

“Hey dad,” Michael said, struggling to sit up, and Dan hurried to help him, curious about what he was going to do. Michael leaned on him, clearly still weak and exhausted, but there was a small smile on his lips.

He held his hand out to The Chief, and The Chief balked for a second, surprised, before taking Michael’s hand.

Dan’s jaw dropped as the shadows melted away, and The Chief looked just as surprised. Michael’s weight got heavier against him, and Dan wrapped an arm around him with worry.

The shadow completely disappeared after a moment, and Michael smiled wider.

“I like the real you best,” Michael said simply, and The Chief looked emotional for a moment before he schooled his face back into seriousness.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to help you, Michael,” The Chief said after a moment, “I truly am.”

Michael squeezed his hand, and gave him another smile.

“It’s okay, Chief,” Michael said, “Better late than never, right?”

“Right,” The Chief said quietly, still looking sad, and but he squeezed Michael’s hand before letting go, “Rest, you two.”

“Will do, Chief,” Dan nodded, and The Chief left without another word.

Dan climbed into bed with a sigh, throwing his glasses onto the nightstand, and Michael laid back down, snuggling up to Dan happily.

It was warm and comfortable, and Dan pet his hand over Michael’s hair gently and brushed a kiss across his forehead.

“I love you, have I mentioned that?” Michael murmured sleepily, and Dan felt like his heart was going to burst.

“I don’t think so, but feel free say it whenever you’d like,” Dan said with a smile, kissing Michael’s forehead again, and Michael sighed.

“Wait a second!” Michael suddenly exclaimed, pushing back, and Dan looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“How haven’t I kissed you yet?” Michael demanded, and a blush rapidly took over Dan’s face.

Michael meshed their faces together before Dan could answer, and Dan gave a surprised squeak.

It was over eager and clumsy, and even mildly painful with the sheer force Michael was exerting, and Dan pulled back, panting.

“Easy, easy!” he chided, and Michael pouted, his hand sliding up to the back of Dan’s neck to pull him in again.

Thankfully, the second kiss was a bit gentler, and Dan stroked the back of Michael’s head softly as his brain finally processed the fact that this was really happening, he was _kissing Michael._

Dan moaned, and Michael echoed him, his hand stroking down Dan’s back warmly.

“We should have done this ages ago,” Dan murmured against Michael’s mouth, and Michael hummed in agreement, “I’m sorry, Michael.”

“Me too,” Michael brushed their noses together, “I didn’t want to break your little nerd brain by being too forward, but I guess I should have.”

Dan giggled, and Michael did too, and Dan honestly never even imagined he could ever feel as good as he did in that moment.

“Well, we’ll have to make up for lost time,” Dan murmured, petting Michael’s hair some more, “But you need to sleep. You’re still exhausted, I can see it.”

“No m’not,” Michael sighed, “Kissing you is way better than sleep.”

Dan gave his head a fond little shake, but the way he was stroking Michael’s hair seemed to be winding him down, and Michael stopped trying to kiss him after another minute or so.

“I’ll be here when you wake up, Michael.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. Go to sleep.”

They did. They didn’t dream.


End file.
